By the time she could move again, most of the crowd had fled. She could see Alured riding behind his soldiers as they tried to stop those in the rear. She finally saw Arcolin, and then Stammel, beyond the tossing heads. Then she could hear them. The cohort reformed, joined the others, and was sent in pursuit of the fugitives. But by sundown, barely a fifth had been retaken, mostly women and children too weak to run far, or too frightened. Paks, still shaken by the morning’s events, was sickened by the treatment of those she helped recapture. Alured was determined that none of Siniava’s sympathizers would survive, and that all would acknowledge his rank and rule. To this end, he intended, as he explained to Phelan in front of the troops, to frighten the citizens into submission.
Paks expected the Duke to argue, but he said nothing. He had hardly seemed to smile since Siniava’s death, and since reaching the coast had spent hours looking seaward. She did not know—none of them knew—what was troubling him. But more and more Paks felt that she could not live with what was troubling her. The looks of fear and loathing turned on them—the muttered insults, clear enough even in a foreign tongue—the contempt of Alured’s troops, when the Phelani would not join them in “play,” which to them meant tormenting some helpless civilian—all this curdled her belly until she could hardly eat and slept but little, waking often from troubled dreams.
Paks tried to hide her feelings, tried to argue herself into calm. She had spoken out once—that was enough for any private. As long as she wore the Duke’s colors, she owed him obedience. He was a good man; had always been honorable . . . she thought of the High Marshal and wished she had never met him. He had raised questions she didn’t want to answer. Surely the Duke’s service was worth a little discomfort, even this unease.
When they marched out of Ka-Immer, leaving a garrison of Alured’s men behind, Paks tried to tell herself the worst was over. But it wasn’t. In town after town, along the Immerhoft coast, Alured suspected Siniava’s agents, or found someone who expressed doubt that a pirate could legally inherit a dukedom. The mercenaries did not participate in the executions and tortures, but they all knew that without them Alured lacked the troops to force so many towns.
None of them knew how long it would last—where the Duke was planning to stop. Surely he would. Any day he would turn back, would march to Valdaire. But he said nothing, staring south across the blue, endless water. Uneasiness ran through the Company like mice through a winter attic.
Paks thought no one had noticed her in particular until Stammel came to her guardpost one night. He stood near her, unspeaking, for a few minutes. Paks wondered what he wanted. Then he sighed, and took off his helmet, rumpling up his hair.
“I don’t need to ask what’s wrong with you,” he began. “But something has to be done.”
Paks could think of nothing to say, any more than she had been able to think of anything to do.
“You aren’t eating enough for someone half your size. You’ll be no good to any of us if you fall sick—”
“I’m fine—” began Paks, but he interrupted.
“No, you’re not fine; neither am I. But I’m keeping my food down, and sleeping nights, which is more than you’re doing. I don’t want to lose a good veteran this way. We don’t have that many. All those new people we’ve picked up here and there. They aren’t the same.” Stammel paused again. He put his helmet back on, and rubbed his nose. “I don’t know if they ever will be—if we ever will be—what we were.” His voice trailed away.
“I keep—keep seeing—” Paks could not go on.
“Paks, you—” Stammel cleared his throat and spat. “You shouldn’t be in this.”
She was startled enough to make a choked sound, as if she’d been hit. “What—why—”
“You don’t.” His voice gathered firmness as he went on. “By Tir, I can’t stand by and see you fall apart. Not for this. You’ve served the Duke as well as anyone could. D’you think he doesn’t know it? Or I?” Now he sounded almost angry. “You don’t belong here, in this kind of fighting. That High Marshal was right; even the Duke said you might be meant for better things.” He stopped again, and his voice was calmer when he resumed. “I think you should leave, Paks—”
“Leave the Company?” Despite the shock, she felt a sudden wash of relief at the thought of being out of it, then a stab of panic. She had already made this decision; she couldn’t make it again.
“Yes. That’s what I came to say. Tir knows this is hard enough on me—and I’m older, and—But you leave, Paks. Go back north. Go home, maybe, or see if you can take knight’s training somewhere. Don’t stay in this until you can’t stand yourself, or the Duke either.”
“But I—how can I ask—I can’t go to him—” The memory of his expression, that night when she had opposed his will, haunted her still. Even though he had seemed to hold no grudge, she did not want to risk another such look.
Stammel nodded forcefully. “Yes, you can. Tell Arcolin. The captain’ll understand—he knows you. He’ll tell the Duke—or you can. They’ll recommend you somewhere, I’m sure of it.”
That wasn’t what was bothering her. “But to leave the Duke—”
“Paks, I’ve got nothing to say against him. You know that. He’s been my lord since I started; I will follow him anywhere. But—you stopped him once, when he—he might have made a mistake. Maybe—if you leave, maybe he’ll look again—”
Paks was speechless, faced again with the decision she thought she’d settled in Cortes Immer. How could she leave the Company? It was closer to her now than family, more familiar than the rooms of the house where she’d been born.
“Paks, I’m serious. You can’t go on the way you have been. Others have noticed already; more will. Get out of this while you still can.”
“I—I’ll have to think—”
“Tonight. We’ll be in Sord tomorrow—more of the same, I don’t doubt.”
Paks found that her eyes were full of tears. She choked down a sob. Stammel gripped her shoulder. “That’s what I mean, Paks. You can’t keep fighting yourself, as well as an enemy. Tir knows I know you’re brave—but no one can fight inside and outside both at once.”
“I gave my word,” she whispered.
“Yes. You did. And you’ve already served your term, and more. You’ve seen Siniava die, which ends that oath, to my mind. I don’t think you’re running out—and I don’t think Arcolin or the Duke will, either. Will you talk to them?”
Paks stared up at a dark sky spangled with stars. Torre’s Necklace was just rising out of the distant sea. She thought of the distant past, when she had dreamed of being a soldier and seeing far places, and of the last town they had been through. “I—can’t—go into another—”
“No. I agree.”
“But it’s too late.” Surely the captains were all in bed; she could not wake them, or the Duke, for such an errand. Relief washed over her; she didn’t have to decide now.
His voice was gentle. “Would you if it weren’t so late?”
That gentleness and the certainty that it was too late relaxed her guard. She was so tired. “Oh, I—I don’t know. Yes. If the Duke would let me—”
“He will,” said Stammel. “Or I don’t know Duke Phelan, and I think I do.” Before she could answer, he called back toward the lines for someone to take her place on guard. “Come on. If I know you, you’ll convince yourself by morning that you owe it to the Duke to work yourself blind, deaf, and crazy.”
She followed him to Arcolin’s tent, sick and trembling again, but the following hour was not as difficult as she feared. The other captains who had been talking with Arcolin melted away when Stammel asked Arcolin for a few minutes of conference. Arcolin himself looked at Paks steadily, but without anger or disappointment.
“You are overdue for leave,” he said. “You’ve served faithfully; if you want either leave, or to quit the Company entirely, you have the right. I would hate to see you leave us for good; you’ve done well, and I know Duke Phela
n is pleased with you. Would you consider a year’s leave, with the right to return?”
Paks nodded. “Whatever you say, Captain.” She could not really think; her mind spun dizzily from fear to elation to sorrow.
“Then we’ll speak to the Duke about it.” Arcolin pushed himself up from his table. “You should come too. He may wish to speak to you about your service.”
The Duke also had not gone to bed. His gaze sharpened when he saw Paks behind Arcolin, but he waved them into his tent. Arcolin explained what Paks wanted, and the Duke gave her a long look.
“Are you displeased with my command, Paksenarrion?”
“No, my lord.” She was able to say that honestly. It was not his command, but his alliances, that bothered her.
“I’m glad for that. You have been an honest and trustworthy soldier. I would hate to think I had lost your respect.”
“No, my lord.”
“I can see that you might well wish to leave for awhile. A northern girl—a different way—but do you wish to leave the Company forever, or only for a time?”
“I don’t know—I can’t imagine anything else, but—”
“How could you? I see.” He gave a short nod, as if he had decided some issue she hadn’t noticed. “You know that High Marshal suggested you might need to leave this Company; he told me that as early as Sibili, after you’d been wounded.” Paks noticed that he did not use the High Marshal’s name. Nor did he mention her earlier insistence that she would stay. “Perhaps this is the right time. You would benefit from advanced training, I think. If you decide to enter another service, I will be glad to recommend you. My own advice is that you seek squire’s training somewhere. You’re already good with single weapons—learn horsemanship as well, and you might qualify for knight’s training.” He stopped, and looked at Arcolin. “She’ll need maps for the journey north; I suppose you’ve already arranged about pay and settlements—”
“Not yet, my lord. She came just this evening.”
“Well, then. You might stay with the Company, Paksenarrion, until you have decided how you will travel. The state Aarenis is in, going alone would not be wise. I’ll be sending someone back to Valdaire a little later, if you wanted to wait—” The Duke had more advice, but none of the condemnation Paks had feared. He seemed more tired than anything else, a little distracted, though kind. She shook his hand, and returned to the cohort area with Arcolin, a little let down at how easy it had been.
Stammel was waiting. “You go on to bed. Tomorrow—”
“But tomorrow is Sord—”
“No. That’s the day after. And you won’t march with us. I’ll have something for you to do—”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me! I’m still your sergeant! By the time you get into Sord, you’ll be free of all this. Now get over there and go to sleep.”
That night Paks slept through to daylight without waking.
Chapter Two
“From Duke Phelan’s Company, eh?” Paksenarrion nodded. The guard captain was a burly dark man of middle height. “Leaving the Company?”
Paks shrugged. “Going home for awhile.”
“Hmm. Wagonmaster says you want to leave the caravan halfway—?”
“It’s shorter—”
“Mmm. Wagonmaster talked to your sergeant, didn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’ll do, then, I suppose. Do you handle a crossbow?”
“Not well, sir. I have used a longbow, but I’m no expert.”
The guard captain sighed. “Can’t have everything, I suppose. Now listen to me—the caravan starts making up day after tomorrow, and we’ll leave the day after that or the next, depending on how many merchants join up. I’ll want you here by high noon day after tomorrow, ready to work. You come in drunk, and I’ll dock your pay. We have to watch the wagons as close in the city as on the trail. Don’t plan on sleeping that night. Be sure to get some armor; the caravan doesn’t supply it. I’d recommend chainmail. The brigands we’ll run into along the coast use powerful bows. That leather you’re used to won’t stop arrows. You can buy mail from us, if you want.” He cocked his head at her. “Clear so far?”
“Yes, sir. Be here at noon day after tomorrow, with armor.”
“And not drunk.”
Paks flushed. “I don’t get drunk.”
“Everyone gets drunk. Some know when. And by the way, no bedding with the merchants; it’s bad for discipline.”
Paks bit back an angry retort. “No, sir.”
“Very well. See you day after tomorrow.” He waved her off. As she left the room, she passed two armed men in the hall outside; one of them carried a crossbow.
* * *
“I can’t believe you’re going.” Paks had hoped to slip out quietly, but Arñe, Vik, and other friends had found her. “What’ll you do by yourself?”
“I won’t be alone,” she said. “I’m doing caravan work—”
“Caravan work! Tir’s gut, Paks, that’s—”
“Some years the Duke does some. You know that.”
“Yes, but that’s with us—with the Company. To go out there with strangers—”
“Arñe, think. How many strangers are in the Company this year?”
“You’re right about that. But still—we’re—we’re your friends, Paks. Since I came in, you’ve been my friend.”
“Yes, but I can’t—”
“Is it that Gird’s Marshal? Are you going to join the Girdsmen?”
“I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. I’m just—” Paks stared past them, trying to say it. “I’m taking leave—we’re all owed leave—and I might come back or I might not.”
“It’s not like you.” Vik scowled. “If it was Barra, leaving in a temper, I could understand it, but you—”
“I’m leaving.” Paks glared at him. “I am leaving. I have talked to Stammel and Arcolin and the Duke himself, and I’m leaving.”
“You’ll come back,” said Arñe. “You have to. It won’t be right.” Paks shook her head and walked quickly away.
As she was leaving the camp, one of the Duke’s squires caught her. “The Duke wants to see you before you go,” he said. She followed him to the Duke’s tent. Inside, the Duke and Aliam Halveric were talking.
“—and I think that will—Oh, Paksenarrion. The Halveric has a request to make of you.”
“My lord?”
“Since you are going north—I understand you are planning to cut across the mountains?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“If you’d be willing to delay your journey home long enough to carry this scroll to my steading in southern Lyonya, I will pay you well. It won’t be much out of your way if you take the eastern pass.”
“I would be honored, sir.” Paks took the scroll, in its protective leather case, and tucked it into her belt pouch.
“Come look at this map. You should come out of the mountains near here—if you go north, you’ll come to an east-west trail that runs from southern Fintha all the way to Prealith. You’ll find Lyonyan rangers, if you’re in Lyonya, or traders on it in Tsaia, and any of them can tell you how to find it.” He pointed it out on the map. “Tell them Aliam Halveric’s, or they’ll send you north to my brother or uncles. You don’t want to go that far out of your way. When you come there, be sure you give it to my lady: Estil, her name is, and she’s several hands higher than I am. Your word will come to her sooner than a courier going back up the Immer, I think.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I can trust you, I’m sure, to tell no one of this. There are those who would be glad to steal that scroll, and cause trouble with it.”
“No, sir, I will tell no one.”
“I thank you. Will you trust my lady to pay you, or would you take it now?”
“Of course I will trust you—your lady, sir. I have not delivered it yet, though I swear I will.”
“Phelan says you may seek work in the north; is that so?” Paks nodded. �
��Well, then, Estil may be able to help. She will do what she can, I promise you.”
“Paksenarrion,” said the Duke, extending his hand. “Remember that you are welcome in my hall, and in my Company, at any time. May the gods be with you.”
“Ward of Falk,” said the Halveric. Paks left the tent half-unwillingly. It was hard to think that she had no right here anymore. If anyone had stopped her then, and asked her to stay, she might have changed her mind. But she saw none of her friends, and passed through the sentries without challenge. As she neared the city gates, the thought of the journey ahead drew her on.
She moved quickly through the crowded streets of Sord. Now that she was out of the Duke’s colors, in rough brown pants and shirt with a pack on her back and a longsword at her side, she heard no more of the catcalls that bothered her so. It felt very strange, being in trousers again after so long. Her legs were hot and prickly. The longsword, too, rode uneasily at her hip. She pushed it farther to the back, impatient. The pack was heavy . . . she had thought it was too hot to wear the chainmail shirt, and warm woollen clothes as well were folded into the pack. She cocked an eye at the sun, and strode on.
At the inn, the caravan master bustled about the court; three wagons were already loaded. He grunted as he saw her, and jerked his head toward the inn door. Paks looked and saw the guard captain there.
“Ha,” he said. “You’re on time.” He looked her up and down critically. “Where’s your mail?”
“In my pack, sir,” said Paks.
“Best wear it,” he said. “With all the confusion around here, I wouldn’t trust leaving it anywhere. Then you can put your gear in that wagon—” He pointed. “For now, just patrol around the packed wagons. As soon as some of the others arrive, I’ll organize guard shifts.”
The Deed of Paksenarrion Page 50